


Contact

by harcourt



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, I wrote this for the kinkmeme, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harcourt/pseuds/harcourt
Summary: Forthe prompt,Daxamites can't go too long without physical contact. (Whether that's hugging/cuddling or full sex and hormonal release is up to you.) Mon-El worries that Kara and company and their prudish alien mores will not understand, so he refuses to tell anyone about it. After going without for too long, Mon-El collapses and comes on/confesses to the nearest person in the feverish aftermath.When something goes wrong with Mon-El, the DEO puts him back in containment, in case he's a hazard. It's not helpful.





	

"What's wrong with him?" Kara asks, standing with J'onn and Eliza in front of the DEO brig and its clear, sealed entrance, looking away from Mon-El to give them a questioning look. "I thought we fixed the--the virus."

They don't respond to her stumble. J'onn doesn't answer at all, but just glances at Eliza, deferring the question, his arms crossed over his chest and his chin tucked in the _being serious_ expression that makes Kara frown but that she's also learned to take seriously.

"I don't think this is the virus," Eliza says, "But keep that door closed anyway. Whatever is going on, we don't want it loose in the DEO." _Infecting you_ , she means, because the similarities between Kryptonians and Daxamites mean that whatever is going on with Mon-El might be a threat to Kara as well.

"I don't think it's serious," Mon-El pipes up, on the other side of the glass, looking put-upon. It's not very convincing, considering he still sounds a little unsteady.

J'onn gives him a measuring look. He does look better, Kara thinks, than before. Like maybe he'd just come down with a bug and is already shaking it off. "Maybe," J'onn allows, without any change in demeanor.

"It could just be a regular Earth virus," Eliza offers, directing it at Kara. "Don't worry yet, okay?"

"Sure," Kara says, worried. "Let me know if anything changes. I'm going to go find Alex."

\-----

"I'm _fine_ ," Mon-El points out, sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the clear cell barrier and holding his arms out to invite scrutiny. "Tada."

"It's _ta-dah_ ," Kara corrects, absent, then follows it with a smile to soften her next words. "J'onn doesn't think we should let you out till we know what's going on."

"In case I'm still carrying poison gas? I'm not carrying poison gas. I've showered a hundred times since then. I have new _clothes_."

"Just while we figure out what's happening. And, you know. For your own protection."

That makes Mon-El frown a little. A kind of suspicious, hurt look as he leans back on his arms and looks up to consider Kara, who's standing outside the cell again, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I've heard that before," he says. "You're worried I brought space germs."

"No one thinks you have space germs." He'd been scanned when they'd first found him, so Kara's sure that's not it. Mon-El has that hang-dog look that means he's just being a pain for the sake of it anyway. He's good at the sad-eyed sympathy baiting. Even aware of that, Kara can't help but feel a little bad, faced with it. Also a little annoyed that he's trying it. "I'll find you some music or something if you're bored. Maybe a computer. You remember how to organize files, right?"

Mon-El pouts. "No," he says. "I didn't--uh. Get around to a lot of it." At CatCo. "I was busy. With things."

"Busy." Kara echoes. "Okay."

"I mean--" Mon-El draws a little circle on the floor in front of him with a fingertip. "It was complicated. And there was a lot of it. And--"

"Alright. Okay. I'll find you something. Maybe a book. I think Winn had something around."

Mon-El sighs, and frowns at the floor, where he's still tracing idle patterns. "Fine," he says, drawing the word out almost pathetically. Looking a little drooped.

"Sorry," Kara tells him. "Eliza wants to be careful." And J'onn, but Mon-El's more likely to accept the caution coming from someone who hasn't already used that for your own protection line to mislead him. "Just be patient, okay?"

"Sure," Mon-El allows, and offers a smile back. "Maybe we can play another game. Winn's taught me chess."

"I'll see what we've got around."

\-----

Kara finds a Trivial Pursuit, decides she'd have too unfair an advantage, then reconsiders and wonders if Mon-El might enjoy learning odds and ends about Earth. She's still trying to decide between that and something lazier, like setting up a movie on a laptop, when she notices commotion in the hall and sticks her head out of the break room just in time to see Alex rounding the corner.

"What's going on?" Kara asks, rushing to catch up, games and movies forgotten, to fall back to normal speed at Alex's side. "Is something wrong? Do I need to--"

"It's Mon-El. Mom's on it."

The crease in Alex's brow means she's worried about _Kara_ , because potentially anything that could happen to Mon-El could happen to her. Could happen to J'onn, maybe. "What is it?" Kara repeats, even though she could rush ahead and look for herself. "Why didn't you call me?"

"We don't know, and there's nothing you can do." There's nothing _Alex_ can do, but Kara doesn't mention that _she's_ being kept in the loop in spite of it, but just trails her in silence, back to the brig and the cell Mon-El somehow keeps winding up back inside of.

He's sitting on the bunk, not sprawled and petulant like that first time, but perched stiffly, arms wrapped around himself like he's cold, one foot bouncing restlessly. His face is scrunched up in discomfort, looking a little like he has a stomach ache. His hair is a mess from Mon-El running his hand through it, and while Kara watches, he does it again, pausing to tighten his fist in the strands, tugging hard before he notices them and drops his arm to grin. "Hi. Found a game?"

Eliza's frowning at him, Alex watchful just a step behind her. J'onn hasn't shown up yet, but it doesn't look like an emergency after all, so Kara's not surprised. Still, she shifts her weight, waiting for someone to fill her in. 

"I'm fine," Mon-El repeats, looking at them looking at him. He gestures vaguely. "I _really_ don't think I'm contagious."

"We have to know for sure," Alex says. "After what happened." With the bar, she means. Mon-El had been there to see the immediate aftermath, but Maggie had lost friends, and Alex is very aware of how grim the scene had been. What the casualties had looked like. "Hang in there, okay?"

"I'm _fine_ ," he insists, sounding a little aggravated for the first time. A little impatient and a bit angry, but then he drops his head back into his hand and pulls his fingers through his hair again. "This'll go away."

"If you know what's causing this--" Eliza prompts, and trails off, waiting for an answer.

"I'm fine." Mon-El repeats again, then frowns stubbornly and doesn't elaborate.

\-----

"He's getting worse, right?" Kara nags, following on Alex's heels and getting in her way. They've literally tripped over each other twice now, and one time Alex had turned and stepped on Kara's foot, not realizing how close behind she'd been trailing.

" _Kara!_ " Alex snaps, the next time they collide, then follows with. "We're working on it, okay? Maybe you can lean on him a little. See if he knows something."

"He's not a suspect." It's a little bit of a question. Alex's irritation makes it seem like she's suspicious, and Kara has to admit that Mon-El's isn't being particularly helpful.

Alex takes a breath, then lets it out and takes Kara by the upper arms, giving her a reassuring little shake. "No. No, he's not a suspect. No one's done anything to be a suspect _for_." Which means Alex thinks he might be up to something, and just hasn't gotten around to it yet. Or just thinks he's keeping something possibly important from them. As soon as Kara frowns at her, she lets go and steps back again.

"I just don't want--Things are ugly out there, okay? Whatever is happening to him--I'm not saying it's his fault, but we only just--" Saved J'onn from changing into a White Martian. Saved the whole alien population of the city from almost certain death. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Kara's not sure what to do about the disturbed, worried expression on Alex's face other than to sock her gently in the arm, then give it a quick squeeze right after. "Nothing's going to happen to me. If it's still the virus, I'm immune, remember?"

"And if it's not the virus? If it's something _new_?"

"Then Eliza will figure it out. He's been fine until now. It can't be anything _that_ serious. Right?"

"Right," Alex agrees, but Kara can tell it's more to reassure her than because Alex believes it.

\-----

"Winn said we could play poker," Mon-El says, when Kara checks on him again. "But he'd have to play my hand for me. I have the feeling that's not how that game works." His slightly suspicious look is cute, but he also looks pale and feverish even though all the readouts say his temperature is normal. Or at least, not fluctuating too far out of his usual range, a few degrees warmer than human. Dark circles are starting to appear under his eyes, like he's been up too long, even though Kara knows that's not the case. "Anyway, I didn't have anything to bet him." He looks up. "Is there a version where you disrobe? On Daxam--"

"Okay," Kara says, cutting him off and holding both hands up to make sure he stops talking. "I don't want to know. I mean. Yes, there is, but don't tell me about--whatever. You and Winn and Daxam. Just, no. Okay?"

"Okay," Mon-El agrees, then changes the subject to ask, "How long do I have to stay in here? Is the booze still a no-go?"

"I'll get you some juice," Kara offers. "And maybe there's some snacks in the break room."

Mon-El frowns, sitting on the bunk with his feet pulled up and his back against the wall. he's kicked his boots off, so he's just wearing socks, and his toes are curled around the edge of the platform. "Fine," he sighs. "And if I'm in here overnight, maybe grab my pillow. And a computer. And--"

"Your stuff," Kara finishes for him.

"It's all right over in the other room. I could come out and then stay _there_." He sounds whiny. Kara's not sure if he's trying to sound pitiful to win sympathy points, or actually miserable.

"Other agents use the bunkroom. You're probably more comfortable here."

Mon-El frowns sulkily, and leans forward, wrapping his arms loosely around his bent knees. 

"And try not to pass out or anything," Kara adds, "Or we might have to move you to the _actual_ quarantine room, and that's way worse than here."

"This blows," Mon-El says, with the careful enunciation that means he's not entirely sure he's using the phrase right. Kara smiles.

"We'll figure it out," she promises. "And get you out of there so you can play poker with Winn."

"And James," Mon-El adds, like an afterthought, but he has his chin resting on a knee, not really paying attention to Kara anymore.

\-----

By midnight, Mon-El's decided to pace, endlessly stalking back and forth behind the clear wall, and J'onn has failed twice at trying to make Kara go home. Alex has gone to crash in the bunk room, and Winn had reluctantly admitted he wasn't much use for anything and headed out, after extracting promises to call if they need him.

"Take it easy," J'onn suggests, leaning one arm against the glass and looking impatient. Like Mon-El's restlessness is rubbing off on him. "This isn't helping."

By which he means that they're wasting time and manpower dealing with Mon-El acting like a trapped animal, when they could be focusing on getting labwork done. Mon-El looks antsy, his eyes searching the cell for a weakness, a way out. He's looking more than a little claustrophobic, even though he'd been fine in the cell every time before, if Kara didn't count sulking and grumpiness, and this time he's got entertainment and comfort. A blanket, that he's left rumpled on the bed, and a computer abandoned and open on the floor, still playing music. It sounds tinny coming out of the headphones. Kara's not sure how Mon-El can bear to have it turned up so high, with his sensitized hearing, but he's turned out to be as enthusiastic about action movies played loud as Winn.

That, or he's learned the appreciation from Winn. 

"Just let me out," Mon-El demands, not stopping his pacing. Rubbing at his arm with one hand, like his skin is uncomfortable. "Nothing's going to happen. I keep telling you. This goes away."

"Really? Because it seems to be getting worse," J'onn points out. 

Mon-El stops at that, long enough to glare and bang a hand against the glass, reminding Kara that the cells are designed to hold aliens of all sorts of strength levels. It still rattles a little when Mon-El decides to follow up with a punch, aiming roughly at J'onn's head. It doesn't result in anything other than his fist bouncing off the door, and then Mon-El wincing and shaking his hand out.

"That was productive."

Mon-El glares. "Let me out."

He's starting to look awful. A little grey around the edges, like he's really tired, and he looks like he's broken a light sweat. The last time Kara'd seen him look so bad was when he'd been suffering from lead poisoning, but he also looks surly, and not in the insufferable way he had when they'd suspected him of being an assassin. More like he's uncomfortable and crabby and just in a lousy mood.

"Why don't you try to sleep?" Kara suggests. "Maybe by morning--"

"I don't _want_ to sleep," Mon-El snaps, then reels it in, gives the glass an annoyed open-palmed slap, and leans close to it to repeat. "Let me out," in as close to a snarl as Kara's ever heard from him.

"No," J'onn says.

Kara tries, "Mon-El," and gives him her best _do it for me_ smile, like he's Alex. Unlike Alex, Mon-El backs down, frowning at her before he goes back to pacing, then, eventually, after at least another hour, back to sitting on the bench with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and tugged over his head like a hood. Kara can't tell if he's cold or sulking.

\-----

"Wow. You look like shit, man," is Winn's contribution, when he comes back in the morning. "No headway on the miracle cure yet, huh? Have you tried Kara's tanning bed thing?"

Mon-El gives him a bleary look, and doesn't bother sitting up. He's lying wrapped up in the blanket, his socked feet sticking out the bottom. "I'm not Kryptonian," he points out. His voice sounds rough. 

"So, hey. Maybe you _do_ get colds then," Winn suggests. "Maybe what we need to do is get you some chicken soup and hot lemon tea, and you'll be good as new."

Mon-El huffs. It sounds like a laugh, but it also sounds like's just humoring Winn. Back to trying to be sociable, but too deflated for his reflexive flirting to come off as anything but kind of pitiful.

"Dude," Winn says, in sympathy.

Kara chews her lip a little, arms crossed over her chest. She kind of wants to bounce her foot, but she's trying to be calm and confident, and not let anyone see how worried she is. "Eliza doesn't think he's poisoned."

Mon-El turns his visible hand into a thumbs-up, but Kara's not sure if he means it as sarcastic approval, or because he thinks that's good news.

"About that soup," Winn starts.

Mon-El waves the hand in dismissal. "Not hungry."

"Not hungry? You two could eat a buffet out of business, even after breakfast. I mean Kara's already had another round of--"

"Hey!" Kara says, and elbows him.

Mon-El groans, like the mention of food is turning his stomach, and curls up a little more. The platform isn't very wide. It doesn't look that comfortable, or like there's much room to _get_ comfortable.

"So have we narrowed it down to space cold?" Winn asks. "Or are we still worrying about space plague? Was there something new, or am I still caught up?"

Kara waves at the cell, because if they weren't worried, Mon-El would be out of there already, and shrugs to indicate that if there's news, she's not any more up to date on it than Winn is.

"Maybe someone coughed on him and he doesn't have immunity and stuff. Like in War of the Worlds. Did we entertain this theory already?"

"I fine," Mon-El croaks, sounding offended even though Kara's sure he doesn't know what War of the Worlds _is_.

"He's fine," Kara echoes, even though he sounds terrible. Mon-El had been so grumpy all night and she'd rather not get him started again now that he's temporarily stopped crabbing

It's silent for a few seconds, and then Mon-El says, "Hey. I spy something that starts with 'W'."

"Is it Winn?" Winn asks. "Or walls?"

Mon-El sighs. "It's walls. Okay. I spy--No that's it. That's all I've got."

"Okay. Well. That's a good sad and pathetic, if I've ever seen one. I'm going to go work. Buzz if you need anything."

\-----

Mon-El doesn't buzz and sometime in the afternoon Kara has to go keep a bus from falling off a bridge, and then help some agents look into what they think might be a stash of alien weapons, but turns out to be a false lead, and when she gets back to the DEO, Mon-El's still not looking too hot. He gives her a bleary glare when she comments on it. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he's got allergies or been up too late, and his hair is a mess from his having lain on it in from all angles, tossing and turning and leaning against the wall, or burying his head in his arms. At least he's a little less grumpy, playing along as a DEO doctor takes readings through the glass, obediently turning and tilting his head, and holding his arms out away from his body when asked, even though Kara doubts it's enough to give anyone any good data. 

He looks like he's enjoying the interaction though, and even leans towards the doctor while she takes notes on a tablet, letting his head bump against the glass, then rest there, with none of his usual mischief, almost like he's not aware he's doing it. Kara looks over at J'onn, to see if he's noticed anything and what he might be thinking, but he has that stern pokerface look that's impossible to read. Kara throws her hands up. "This is ridiculous. If he had anything dangerous, he'd have contaminated _something_ by now. He's been hanging out here for weeks. We took him to _CatCo_."

"It's a precaution," J'onn says, without moving. Normally, Kara would find his steady attitude comforting, but right now she'd prefer him to agree with her and _fix things_. She keeps looking at him until he meets her eyes and his expression softens. "Kara. A whole room of us. We have to be more careful than we have been."

"Yeah, but--" Kara looks away, at Mon-El making weird frowning faces at his feet, then back at J'onn.

Which is the moment that Mon-El decides he's had enough, thumping into the glass right in front of them and making them both jump.

"J'onn. J'onn, let me out. This is fine. It's not--I can _fix this_. You've just got to give me maybe two days. One day." His hands are flat on the glass. He hadn't looked as trapped in the cage at Cadmus, and for whatever reason the whole medically checking him out again procedure seems to have made him worse. He suddenly seems frantic, like he's one small step away from utter desperation. "J'onn."

Kara's sure J'onn's about to refuse, but then Mon-El's eyes flick to the far exit and back to J'onn before he rests his head against the door again, his breath making puffs of fog against the cool glass, and something about that makes J'onn waver. Expression suddenly unsure and his brow furrowed in worry and sympathy. 

"I just need a day," Mon-El repeats. He sounds like he's getting weaker, all of a sudden. "I'll fix it and come back. Cross my--uh--"

"Heart," Kara supplies, because for once watching him flounder is unbearable instead of exasperating or charming.

"Heart. And hope to--uh--"

"I _can't_." J'onn says. "I can't endanger the city. Or give them any excuse to--" 

"Fix it _how_?" Kara demands, putting her hand on the glass to get Mon-El's attention. "Mon-El, is this something that's wrong with _you_?" By which she means not poison or virus or space bacteria, but Mon-El snorts like he's offended.

"Figures that on Krypton you wouldn't--" he starts, in a weird tone that Kara can't read A little angry, but also tired and sad. "We used to dance," he says, switching gears out of nowhere. "On Daxam. All the time. And sleep together. Not to mate, but just--" His eyes flick to meet Kara's then away again. "Just to please each other." His tone is so neutral that Kara's sure it's a confession, but she isn't sure what it is that Mon-El's confessing, until J'onn swears and stalks away, across the room. A second later, the cell door hisses open, sliding out from between them and letting Mon-El overbalance into her, making her stagger in surprise before she manages to catch both Mon-El and her balance.

Mon-El grumbles, but he doesn't try to make a break for freedom, or even that much of an effort to get his feet under himself. Instead, he lets her take his weight and gets just enough traction against the floor to push himself against her with a sigh. Kara tightens her arms around him, partly out of reflex, and partly because Mon-El seems both upset and not very steady.

"'J'onn?"

"You're like Martians," J'onn says, ignoring her question, still standing with one hand on the controls. "Daxamites. Aren't you?"

"Weak-willed hedonists?" Mon-El asks, muffled into Kara's shoulder. "Absolutely." His arm is around Kara's waist, holding on, even though the description is familiar to her, from Krypton, and things she had heard as a child and possibly even insinuated when Mon-El had first woken. He feels too-warm under her hands, through his shirt, but Kara can't tell if it's fever, or his regular running-hot temperature. His breath sounds unsteady, but not in a way that sounds too worrying.

"A communing species," J'onn corrects. "But physical instead of telepathy. Is it necessary for your survival?"

"It doesn't need to be Daxamites. And this usually goes away after a while. On Daxam--"

"On Daxam, you hadn't been in a pod for thirty-odd years." 

Kara slides a hand up his back and into his hair, the way Eliza had when she'd been younger and homesick. "Why didn't you _say_ something? We're all _right here_ , Mon-El."

There's no answer. Just Mon-El pulling back, even though Kara's still supporting his weight. She's not sure Mon-El _could_ stand on his own, at the moment.

"Because," J'onn says, voice flat, "we're not Daxamites. Daxam is gone, and it was never going to be the same."

By the small sound Mon-El makes, Kara knows J'onn's hit the nail on the head. He hadn't told them about Martian psychic bonding either, until M'gann had turned up and he'd had a chance for it again.

"I was doing alright," Mon-El admits. "It doesn't have to Daxamites to--" He makes a vague gesture. A helpless lifting and dropping of one hand. "And there was the bar. But then--" Then Cadmus and being stuck in Kara's apartment and the DEO while his leg healed, and then the quarantine and being sick, and after that the bar had been gone.

Kara had known Mon-El was a regular, but she hadn't thought too much about it. Hadn't considered there might be reasons beyond the obvious. "I didn't know that about Daxam."

Mon-El huffs against her shoulder again. "Look at that. Something a Kryptonian doesn't know." It's not mean. Just hollow in a way that reminds Kara all over again how pointless and inconsequential those old grudges are, with their worlds dead. 

_You're not alone_ , Kara wants to say, but she knows the feeling, and had known it even though Clark was out there somewhere, also on Earth. In the end, she just stands there with her arms around him until Mon-El hugs her back.

\-----

"So a lot of dancing, huh?" Kara asks, pretending to be watching the TV, even though it's gone to commercial. Next to her, Mon-El huffs and stretches his legs out, just managing to hook his toes on the ottoman. 

" _Lots_ of dancing." They're at her apartment, and he's sitting too close to her, slouched low on the couch. They've been playing out Kara's idea of comfort and recovery--eating ice cream, wearing fluffy socks and sharing a blanket while dressed in sweatshirts and pajama bottoms while some movie plays. It's kind of nice, even if Mon-El is being more quiet than usual. "And parties."

Kara looks down at him, and Mon-El catches the movement and glances up, then pretends to be busy with the remote, turning the sound up a couple of notches and then down again.

"And then _after_ parties. On Daxam, it's rude to let someone go home alone." The channel flips, then flips back. Kara snatches the remote away from him, to fix the volume, then sets it down out of his reach.

"I thought that was a pick-up line."

"It works for that too."

Kara bumps him with her shoulder, friendly, and Mon-El laughs and digs his spoon into his ice cream. "We have to get more of this," he says, and tilts it to look at the front of the container. "Cookie dough."

It's a dodge, probably. "And fudge brownie," Kara offers, tipping her own container to show him the scraped-clean bottom, then leans to put it on the table, while Mon-El keeps chasing chocolate chips around and idly stirring the last bit of his ice cream before sighing.

"So I should have told J'onn, right?"

Kara _mm_ -s. "You're probably going to get a talk about time and man power." Or not. She's got a distinct feeling that J'onn's going to let the whole thing go, maybe with a serious, pointed look the next time he sees Mon-El, followed by a gruff but friendly thump to the shoulder. Possibly followed by an awkward attempt to convey understanding, but that's a bit more doubtful, considering it's Mon-El, and Kara's not sure he and J'onn have quite figured out what page they're on in regards to each other.

"You could have told me," Kara offers, trying to make it light. Mon-El glances up and smiles. Quick, and with just the corner of his mouth. It's almost convincing. "You know Krypton's gone too."

"Krypton," Mon-El huffs. 

"Okay. Fine. So we don't mind meld, or whatever, but--" She shrugs. "There's still lots of things that aren't the same on Earth."

"Flying cars?"

Kara snorts a laugh, and nudges him with her elbow. "Yeah. Flying cars."

Mon-El scoops melted ice-cream. Asks, around the spoon, "Speeches? I remember Krypton liking speeches. A _lot_." He offers the ice-cream container, then shrugs when she declines, and polishes the last of it off. 

"Music," Kara says, shifting to sit sideways on the couch, while Mon-El stack his empty container with hers, then sits back to frown at her. "I mean, not that Earth doesn't have _music_ , but, you know--There's some songs I just _almost_ remember. Like if I could hear one word of it, the whole thing will come back."

"I don't have that."

The distance, he means. The nostalgia. It's all fresh, almost-current disaster to Mon-El. Bright, bitter loss instead of a dull ache. Nothing forgotten yet. Kara pokes him with a toe before he can start thinking about losing memories on top of everything else, and holds an arm out in offer. "Then we'll have to take you to karaoke."

"Oh. Winn said something about that!" The uptick in his mood should be a warning, but Kara's happy to see him relax and acting more like himself, even if he's covering for a moment of hesitation before he decides to take her up the hug, and rearranges himself so he can lean against her and Kara can unfold her legs and get comfortable without either of them ending up on the floor.

"Winn's terrible at karaoke."

"He says he's great."

"Hah. _I'm_ great."

Mon-El shifts around a little more, then sighs. Tries to cover the pleased noise by saying, "I sense a rivalry."

"Oh, you haven't _seen_ a rivalry."

"I'm good at the play...thing." He sounds distracted. Maybe sleepy. The TV's a comfortable background sound that Kara's forgotten to pay any attention to. "We'll start a team. With that other thing too."

Kara shifts to keep her leg from falling asleep, with Mon-El doing nothing to move himself, like he's slowly gone boneless, wedged in somehow between Kara and the backrest, and sort of half on top of her at the same time, his arm flopped over her. He's still too warm, or at least, noticeably warmer than humans. "Would you have died? If--" she doesn't finish, patting at his arm to get the rest of the point across.

"No. I don't know. We don't--I mean, I'm sure _someone_ must have experimented at some point." Mon-El heaves a breath and pulls her back into the hug. Like he needs to banish the thought of extended physical isolation with contact and body heat, tangling himself up with Kara so that there's no way for either of them to even pretend to be watching the TV anymore. Kara dislodges him long enough to retrieve the remote and flip to something else. Anything else, where people are talking and providing low key distraction.

"You're not _trying_ to do anything, are you? Anything stupid, I mean."

Mon-El laughs into her shoulder, not really like he thinks the question is funny, and Kara wraps her arms around him. "You're supposed to live, remember?"

"Hey, I'm living."

He's trying to be charming. Kara bops him with a pillow, making a soft _fump_ noise against his head, and this time Mon-El's laugh is more genuine. "I was just trying to figure out how to bring this up," he says.

Kara doesn't believe that for a second, but lets it go in favor of trying to free the blanket from where it's gotten twisted, with one end pinned under Mon-El. "You usually start with 'On Daxam'."

Mon-El grins. "Well then. On _Daxam_ , when you're invited home--"

Kara gives him a shove.

"--there's usually a better store of ice cream."

"There is not."

"And the guest chooses the TV show."

"Mm-hm."

"And brings the...booze." He says it like he's testing the word, then pauses to think it over a second. "Next time, I'll see if I can find something good for Kryptonians. On Daxam--"

"Okay."

"We'd stay up all night and just drink. Watch the stars."

"On Krypton too," Kara says. "And Earth."

Mon-El sighs and squirms, settling in. "Yeah," he says. "Or we can also do drinking games."


End file.
